


Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair

by mariesondetre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Hippies, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Established Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Fluff, Hippie Castiel, Hippie Dean, Hippie Sam, Hippie communes, I will tag other characters as they come along, M/M, Minor Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Mormon Castiel, NOT endverse!Cas, POV Alternating, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Vietnam War, but not too slow because i'm a sap, there is no MCD nor do they actually go to war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-23 13:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12508840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariesondetre/pseuds/mariesondetre
Summary: When Dean receives his draft notice for the Vietnam war, and decides not to go, his father throws him out. On his way to meet with his brother Sam in Berkeley, he takes a hitchhiker, a weird mormon guy called Castiel. This decision will change both their lives...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first idea for this fic was an AU of the movie Hair. The story changed quite a lot as I was outlining, though, so the movie is now just a vague reference in terms of atmosphere and historical period.  
> I'm a very slow writer, but I already wrote four chapters and will post once a week; hopefully I'll be able to keep this rhythm until the end, but no promises.  
> Two lovely peole have made me the honor of drawing for this story: [@carolinasacco](http://carolinasacco.tumblr.com) and [@foxymoley](http://foxymoley.tumblr.com). You'll find the art [here](http://dixseptdixhuit.tumblr.com/post/166888127953/finally-im-posting-my-hippie-destiel-au-its) for the first chapter. There will be a new art link for each chapter.  
> As usual, the amazing [Rie](http://procasdeanating.tumblr.com) is my beta, but all remaining mistakes are my own. As a non-American and non-native speaker, I hope I haven't written any blatant stupidity. If so, let me know!

_ September 1967 _

 

The bus had stopped forty-five minutes ago and it didn’t look like it was going to start moving anytime soon. The driver was chatting with a mechanic from the bus station in front of the open hood; Castiel could see them from his seat in the middle of the vehicle. Most of the other passengers had gone out to use the bathroom or stretch their legs. Finally, Castiel got up, grabbed his suitcase from the rack above his head, and climbed down the stairs. He approached the driver.

“Excuse me, sir, do you have any idea of how long this will take?”

The man shook his head.

“Sorry, son, can’t tell you. If things don’t work out, we’ll have to wait for another bus to come and pick up the passengers. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

Castiel nodded, and turned towards the station. The building was sitting on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, just past the border. There was only a gas station right next to it, probably selling refreshments and cheap food. Castiel couldn’t believe he had finally managed to leave Utah, for the first time in his life, only to be stopped by a bus engine failure not five miles into Nevada. He wanted to go on, to put distance between him and his parents. And that was what they wanted too, wasn’t it? Despite his brothers’ absence, they wanted him to “accomplish his duty to his country”. Castiel wondered briefly if Gabriel had passed through this bus station too when he had left. He had no idea in which direction his brother had gone, or where he was now. As for Michael… he knew all too well where to find him.

Shaking these thoughts off, he entered the gas station. A few customers were drinking coffee or paying for gas. Castiel decided he could always ask if someone was going towards California and would take him at least a bit further, to the next city where he would be able to find a functioning bus. He didn’t want to spend hours in the middle of nowhere if he could avoid it; he wanted to move on. And if no one was willing to give him a ride, he could still wait for his bus to be repaired. He scanned the small store; a family of three, a small group of men, probably truck drivers, and two men waiting at the checkout to pay for their gas refill.

By the time he had spoken to the father of the family, and been told that they were going in the opposite direction, one of the men at the checkout had paid and disappeared. Cas was starting to move toward the truck drivers, thinking maybe he’d have more chance with them if he offered to pay for the ride, when the second man at the checkout made a small gesture to catch his attention. Castiel really looked at him for the first time and realized that he was younger than he had thought when he had just caught him in the corner of his eye; actually, he was about the same age as Cas himself, maybe even a bit younger. His clothes were worn and probably second-hand; the big leather jacket sure wasn’t his own. He wasn’t a hobo, but probably a blue-collar of some sort, as far as Cas could tell by his old blue jeans. He also had striking green eyes that stood out in his tired face.

“Hey, um, I just heard that you’re looking for a ride to California?”

Castiel nodded.

“Well, I could use the company… and maybe a little help for the gas.”

“Of course,” Cas replied. “That would be really nice of you. My Greyhound broke down and the driver said it could take hours to get it fixed. I would like to get out of here and reach California sooner rather than later.”

“Where exactly are you going?”

“Oakland. Well, Berkeley first, to be exact.”

“Really? That’s where I’m heading, too. That’s settled then. Name’s Dean Winchester, by the way.”

“Castiel Novak. Thank you very much.” The young man - Dean - looked at him like he wasn’t sure what to make of this name, but Castiel was used to that kind of reaction, and Dean didn’t comment further. Instead, he started walking out of the store and toward a long black car, looking out-of-style and dusty from the road, but still standing out among the old pick-ups and the trucks on the parking lot, with its backside forming some sort of wings.

“Is this your car?” Cas asked. Dean smiled proudly, and his face lit up.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Chevy Impala 1959. Old lady, but she still purrs like a young pussy.”

Castiel tried not to blush at the vocabulary. He’d been raised in a prudish environment, and he needed to start getting used to the loose manners of people his age; he actually wanted to. It was still hard to hold back his ingrained reactions.

“She’s impressive,” he answered, and was rewarded with another smile from Dean.

Dean opened the trunk so that Castiel could put his small suitcase in, then they climbed into the front bench seat and Dean started the engine. He turned west, leaving the sun behind for the moment; it would turn and face them by the time they would approach the coast anyway.

  
  


They drove in silence for a few miles. Castiel was trying to get accustomed to being in a car with a total stranger, his home and family and entire life fading in the rearview mirror. What lay ahead was new, but more frightening than exciting. He had barely three weeks to enjoy what the outer world had to offer to a twenty-five year old man who had never left Salt Lake City, before he would in all likelihood be enrolled in the US army and swiftly shipped to Vietnam.

Not wanting to dwell on these thoughts, Cas asked: “So, where are you from?”

Dean looked at him, as if caught off-guard.

“Uhm, I’m from Lawrence, Kansas. I’ve been on the road for an entire day already.”

“Then maybe we should talk, so that you don’t fall asleep,” Cas suggested. “Why are you going to Berkeley?”

“My little brother studies there. Well, he’s not so little now, I guess.” Dean chuckled, but the frown returned quickly on his brow. “I’m… Listen, I’d rather you told me what you’re going to do in Berkeley first. I suppose you’re headed there to study, too? Or to teach, maybe?” He glanced at Castiel’s suit and tie.

“Oh, no, neither one nor the other, sadly. Although I hope to be able to attend several conferences, if I can, before… Well, I’m called in to the draft board in Oakland at the end of the month.” Castiel stated the fact in a blank tone, not wanting to inspire pity or any strong reaction, but he got quite the opposite of what he expected. Dean’s head swiped to the right and he looked at Castiel with wide eyes.

“You’ve been drafted for Nam? Really?”

Castiel nodded, his lips pursed.

“And… you want to go? I mean, are you going to try and get a deferment or something?”

The question raised a sudden anger in Cas, and he replied curtly: “No, I don’t _ want _ to go. But I’m not sure I can avoid it, given that they didn’t mind calling someone whose brother volunteered two years ago and was killed after three months.”

Dean visibly blanched.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He ran his hand over his mouth. “It’s just… I’m a draftee too. And I’m dodging it right now. I’m supposed to register in Denver in a few days, but instead I’m going to meet with my brother’s friends. They’re not big fans of this war, if you know what I mean.”

Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that. He was both shocked by and admirative of the decision. But Dean’s case was different.

“You’re probably right to do that. But it’s different for me. My parents… they wouldn’t let me.”

Dean chuckled bitterly. It sounded like a bark.

“Well, my father was blind drunk when I left, and it’s the only reason why he didn’t beat me to a pulp when I said I wouldn’t fight in the army. So there’s that.” He turned to look Castiel in the eyes before resuming watching the road. “You always have a choice. You can choose not to die like your brother. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to.”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. You don’t know the whole background.”

“Tell me, then. If you’d like. We won’t get there before late tonight anyway. Might as well get to know each other.”

Then Castiel started talking, because he didn’t have anyone else to tell all of this. Dean had also something about him; maybe it was the fact that they were in the same situation, and the ”brothers-in-arms” feeling was something that came early. Maybe it was because Cas had never had friends outside of the Latter Day Saints movement, and Dean fascinated him with his casual manners and his freedom. He had a careless grace to him, something Cas had never witnessed in anyone except in children.

So Castiel recounted how he had never hoped for much in life, and was content with being involved in his community. He just would have liked to have the opportunity to travel through Europe and to see all the works of art he’d been denied the right to contemplate by his parents. He’d started painting early in his teenage years, and had been encouraged to do so as long as the subjects of his art remained strictly in the morally acceptable realm. Religious scenes, landscapes, still lifes were okay; but studying the human anatomy, or even abstraction, was out of the question. There was no denying Castiel had been educated by bigoted people; he had understood it over the years, but the true realization had hit when they had asked for their oldest son to enroll in the army. Michael was a loyal son, the pride of his parents, and he had accepted right away.

In the last months, Castiel had thought he was in the clear about the military draft, as he was reaching his twenty-fifth birthday, but his number had been called in the last moment, and it had been a hard blow. Then he had briefly thought that his parents would use their influence and relations to help him get an exemption, but he had been wrong, and that blow had been even harder. How could Zachariah and Naomi Novak let their youngest son leave, even demand he did, when the loss of their oldest still weighed on the entire household? When it hadn’t even been two years yet that they had all gathered around an empty casket, because Michael’s remains had never been retrieved from the Vietnamese jungle? Then Gabriel had fled, two months after that parody of a funeral, and there had been no sign of him since. And now, the Novaks stayed in their big and empty house, with their reputation intact, still well respected in their community, but having sacrificed their three sons to their idea of righteousness.

Dean was a good listener. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to commiserate; he just kept driving, and Cas was grateful about it. He wasn’t sure if he had said too much, or should have stopped sooner. When he was done, silence stretched between them for a while. Dean’s face was unreadable, until he asked:

“And now you intend to let the army send you over there?”

“I don’t feel like I have a choice. I’m not like Gabriel; I’m not strong enough to leave and not look back. And I would be alone; no one else is there to support me, and I don’t really fit in… anywhere.”

Dean pursed his lips.

“Well, I’m not in a position to give you advice, man, but that’s fucked up. That’s real fucked up.”

Castiel didn’t answer. After a moment, Dean switched the radio on, and Cas listened to the music of a world he didn’t know the first thing about.

 

Dean started talking after almost an hour of silence, without any prompting. He stated what he had to say in a flat tone, as if to not show how deeply hurt he was.

“My mom died in a fire when I was four. My brother, Sam, was six months old, and I had to carry him out while my dad tried to rescue my mother. Our house burned to the ground. After that and his deployment in Europe, my father never recovered. He started drinking, and just barely managed to keep his small garage afloat, mostly out of the goodness of heart of the people in town who knew what had happened. I started working with him when I was sixteen and never stopped until two days ago. I wanted Sam to have the opportunities I couldn’t have, and when he left for Berkeley, that was enough for me. Anyway, the only thing my dad's really proud of is that he liberated France with the marines... so when I said I wouldn't go to Nam to fight a stupid war against poor people who never did me no harm, he just threw me out.”

When Dean finished talking, he looked at Castiel, who looked back. It lasted only a beat before Dean returned his eyes to the road, but there was so much into this look that Cas had to take a deep breath. Having someone he didn’t know, someone he didn’t share an education with, telling him his life story like this amazed him. He was not used to that kind of trust. But he felt that Dean wouldn’t like him to try and tell him that everything would be okay, or any sort of false reassurance. Instead, he tried out the words Dean had used before and deadpanned:

“Well, that’s a fucked up situation, too, Dean.”

Dean gave him a sidelong look, surprised, and then, unexpectedly, he burst out laughing.

“Haha, yeah, you’re right! Look at us both, we just make a famous pair, don’t we? Great recruits they found for their war! One mormon artist who’s never even seen a painted butt, and one wayward dumbass with no job and an attitude!”

There was a drop of bitterness in Dean’s laugh, but good humor too, and Cas couldn’t help but join him. Dean’s smile lit up all his features, and Cas thought he would have loved to make him his first portrait subject, if they had more time. He tried to not think about the “painted butt” Dean had mentioned. He was used to repress that kind of thoughts, but Dean had lost his too-big leather jacket and Cas’ fingers tingled from the need to sketch those forearms. 

When they stopped laughing, the mood had lightened significantly. They spent the next hours changing the radio stations, Cas carefully asking about the music they were listening to, and Dean enthusiastically talking about the bands and albums he liked. 

 

They stopped to eat something and put gas in the car again before reaching Reno. Cas insisted to pay for both gas and food, and Dean didn’t protest much. After munching silently through half his greasy burger, Dean asked:

“Ever thought about getting married to dodge the draft? To be honest, I’m even surprised that a mormon guy your age isn’t married and father of a couple kids already.”

Castiel stiffened at the question. 

“My parents tried to convince me to get married several times. Actually, it was the only thing that would have made them help me get an exemption. They even had several candidates up their sleeve.”

“So what, were the girls that ugly, that you’d rather go to Nam?”

Cas shook his head, annoyed.

“I wouldn’t marry just to avoid going, that’s all. I’ve never really seen myself with a wife anyway. Why didn’t  _ you _ get married?” he asked, almost aggressively. “I bet any young lady would be happy to have you.”

Dean shrugged.

“I thought about it, but apparently it doesn’t work anymore; I heard they exempt guys who have children but not the ones who’re just married. And anyway, the one chick who would have considered it had just walked to the altar with another guy.”

“You had just one candidate? I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it or not, but girls don’t get in line for an uneducated mechanic with a drunkard for a father. Lisa was my highschool sweetheart, and even if we’d been broken up for a while, I think she still had a soft spot for me… but that guy had a better position, and I also think they’d gotten a bit ahead of the game, because she was quite pregnant last time I saw her.”

Cas swallowed and found himself wishing that Dean would have married this Lisa and gotten out of danger; he had to remind himself that Dean was not going to war anyway. That didn’t mean he couldn’t get caught and still sent over there. In a few hours, Cas had come to like Dean enough to hope he would never have to go.

 

It had been dark for a good hour when they arrived outside Berkeley. They had had time to contemplate the sunset in silence in the last fifty miles; it had seemed to stretch on and on and last forever, as they were chasing the sun further west. Finally, Cas spoke.

“It would be kind of you to drop me at a motel, not too far from the campus. I really appreciated that you took me with you; if I’d waited for my bus to be repaired, who knows where I would be at this hour. Probably still in Nevada.”

“A motel? You sure? It’s late, I can take you to Sam’s, I’m sure he won’t mind, and you can find a place in the morning.”

“No, no, I don’t want to be more of a bother than I already was.” Cas knew he was hiding behind his polite, slightly stiff tone; hiding that he wanted to accept the offer and let Dean convince him that he could follow his example and dodge his duty. But he couldn’t, and the drive and the conversation and the fun he had today had already tested his resolve. 

Dean tried to argue a bit more but in the end he seemed to sense that it was pointless. He stopped in front of the motel Cas spotted, and only started the car again after he had scribbled Sam’s address on a piece of paper that he pressed into Cas’ palm before shaking it. 

Cas watched him turn the corner with a heavy weight in his stomach. He was certain he would never see Dean Winchester again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to [@carolinasacco](http://carolinasacco.tumblr.com)'s art for chapter two [here](http://dixseptdixhuit.tumblr.com/post/167122534233/be-sure-to-wear-some-flowers-in-your-hair-chapter)

After having crashed on a mattress in Sam’s dorm room, too tired after the seemingly never-ending drive to even properly notice how much Sam’s hair had grown, Dean slept for ten hours. When he woke up, he was alone, and for a minute he had to remind himself where he was. He remembered the day before and wondered if he would see Castiel again someday, but his helpful mind reminded him that Cas might not even survive Nam, so the chances that he would cross Dean’s path again were very small. He shut it down and got up. Neither Sam nor his roommate Kevin were there, but then again it was already ten thirty in the morning. Dean found a note from Sam propped up on the toilet (where Sam must have thought Dean wouldn’t miss it): “Meet us at the cafeteria; there’ll be breakfast”. 

The word ‘breakfast’ was enough to make Dean dress quickly and dash out. He found Sam sitting at a table with three other people, and was introduced to Kevin, a young asian-american student who shared Sam’s room, Jessica, who he knew had been dating Sam for over six months now, and Charlie, Jess’ roommate. Charlie was red-headed and very cheerful. When Sam had introduced Dean to everyone, she exclaimed: 

“So  _ that’s _ the famous Dean! I was starting to wonder if you were a mythological creature or something. Sam never shuts up about you.” She watched him from head to toe before nodding approvingly. “Well, you’ll have to grow a bit more hair if you want to blend in here, but apart from that, you look okay!”

Dean looked around. Between the four of them, they had indeed an awful lot of hair. Charlie’s shone like a flame; Jess got an impressive blond mane, shiny and curly; even Kevin’s black hair almost reached his shoulders. As for Sam… Dean looked at his brother. Sam had never been the crew-cut type, but now his hair was really long, and it moved when Sam talked animatedly with his friends. He was wearing some sort of ethnic shirt, probably indian, and a long beaded necklace. Dean wanted to scoff at the attire, but what struck him the most was how happy Sam looked, like he belonged, and the expression on his face when he looked at Jess made something warm pool in Dean’s chest. There was no way he was letting go of teasing his baby brother, though. 

“Well, Samantha here has got enough hair for both of us, I think.” He winked at Charlie, who chuckled. Sam scowled mockingly.

“Either shut up and eat your breakfast, or tell me more about why you’re here? Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, man, but I’ve been begging you to visit for over a year, and suddenly you send me a message with just ‘I’ll be there in two days’; you have to admit it’s a bit surprising.”

Dean swallowed; as much as he would have loved to just eat in peace, he couldn’t let Sam stay in the dark about the situation. There weren’t many ways of saying it.

“I was called to the draft board for next week, and I’m not going, so I thought I’d be better off here than at home.”

Silence fell on the whole table; the four of them watched him with various expression of horror and pity. Sam leaned towards him and put his hand on Dean’s forearm.

“What?! Oh my god, what did Dad say?”

“He threw me out, Sam. That’s another reason why I came here.” 

The brothers looked at each other with their jaws clenched. Dean knew all too well what Sam was thinking: that their father had always been a bully, that Sam had told Dean many times to just leave and get his own life, like he himself was trying to do in Berkeley. Dean didn’t need to hear Sam say “I told you so”, but apparently Sam wasn’t going to. Instead, he exhaled in relief.

“Thank god you’re not thinking about going. And you came to the right place. You’re not the only dodger here. In fact, we know several people who may be able to help.”

Jess nodded. “You need to meet Pamela.”

 

Dean insisted that he had to eat first (there was pie, there was no way they could have dragged him out before he had tried it!), but as soon as he was finished, Sam and Jess escorted him across the campus to the Vietnam Day Committee headquarters, while Charlie and Kevin went to a class they didn’t want to miss. The committee was housed in a couple of repurposed offices joined together in order to make a larger room. Several people were sitting at desks, filing paperwork or chatting. As they entered, Sam leading the way, a woman stood and came to them. She was older than them all, maybe in her early thirties,  and she was stunning. She had long dark hair and magnetic, mischievous dark eyes, and she smiled like she knew all their secrets. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” she greeted Sam, who chuckled and answered good-naturedly: “Hey Pamela. I’d like you to meet my brother Dean. He needs your help.”

When she spotted Dean, she looked him up and down like she was going to eat him for dessert, and damn, Dean would have let her. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. 

“Nice to meet you, Dean. I see the good genes run in the family.” She winked at him. “What can I do for you?”

It was Sam who answered again. “He’s been called to the draft board, and he’s not going.”

“Mmh, I see. Well, you’re not the only one here, Dean, and we’ll be able to help you know what options you have.”

Pamela made them sit around a table and started asking precise questions, while checking the documents Dean had taken with him. She explained what he could do to stay under the radar and still find a job and a place to live if and when he needed to. But when she started reviewing what he could do if he was caught, and how to still maybe get a deferment, Dean’s thoughts started drifting, and suddenly he asked:

“Do you think it’s normal to draft a guy whose brother was already killed in Vietnam two years ago?”

Sam looked at him, dumbfounded, while Pamela shot a questioning look at Sam. 

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked. Dean seemed to come back to his senses for a second, and said:

“Oh, right, I didn’t tell you about him. It’s just a guy I travelled with yesterday, and he’s been drafted too, but his older brother fought and was killed and now they’re calling him? I mean, what the fuck is this?”

Dean was so outraged, now that he thought about it again, that Sam had to make him start over from the beginning to understand what he was talking about. Dean told them about Castiel and his situation. Pamela shook her head.

“You’re right, it’s utterly unfair; but if he’s decided to go, and you don’t know how to reach him and convince him… there’s really nothing we can do.” 

Dean sensed that Sam was surprised by his talking about Cas’ story with more heat than he put in explaining his own situation. There was a slightly awkward pause, and Pamela resumed her explanations and advice. Dean listened and tried to put Castiel out of his mind.

 

The next two days passed in a flurry of activities; Sam insisted that Dean needed to meet as much people as he could, and he introduced him to all his friends and acquaintances. People here in Berkeley were all fighting for one cause or another: Dean met civil rights and anti-war activists, of course, but also feminists - like Charlie - and students engaged in various political movements. Dean had vaguely tried to hit on Charlie on the first afternoon, after their visit to Pamela; she’d burst out laughing and told him that he was “cute for a guy, but really lacked the bare minimum of boobs to please her”. He’d blushed and spluttered, and let Charlie talk about the gay and lesbian community that was starting to make its voice heard in Frisco; he tried to look detached and unconcerned, but deep down he was amazed by the freedom with which Charlie talked about her way of life. From that moment on, Charlie and Dean got on surprisingly well and spent a lot of time together.

So Dean kept sleeping on a mattress in Sam and Kevin’s dorm room at night, and by day he wandered around the campus with the gang, attending  a few conferences, but also mingling with groups at the cafeteria or the library, and flirting shamelessly with any girl who would respond to his winks - apart from Charlie’s friends, of course. He’d never seen that many beautiful girls in one place; in Lawrence, Kansas, the choice was quite narrow, and he’d known most of the girls since they were in pigtails anyway. He was starting to appreciate the life in Berkeley.

  
  


“Guys, there’s a concert in the hills tonight! What do you say we take Dean’s car to go up there?” Dean looked up with a start. Sam and Jess had just barged in the cafeteria where the others were having breakfast, and hadn’t even said hello before sharing the news excitedly. But Dean had heard just one thing.

“Wow, wow, what do you want to do with my car?”

“Relax, we’d just like you to drive us into the hills behind the campus, so that we can have an amazing night. Usually we’d hitchhike our way there, but it’d be way better to go all together! She’ll be safe, there’s plenty of place to park her.”

Dean had to be convinced, but by six o’clock in the evening they were piled in the Impala, the five of them plus one of Kevin’s friends. 

They parked the car at the end of the road, up in the hills, along with a lot of other vehicles in various shapes. The Impala still stood out with her vintage line. Up in the bushes and the pine trees, a band was playing. There was no stage, and several dozens of people had just gathered around in a wide circle, while smaller groups were sitting a bit further away, chatting, drinking and smoking. Others were dancing or scratching guitars, girls waving their long hair in rhythm with the music. Sam and Jess took a bunch of beer bottles out of their bags and handed them out, and they all wandered around the area. 

They’d been here for about an hour, and Dean was still nursing his beer, soaking in the music and the noise of all the chill people around him, when he heard louder noises coming from behind the denser crowd that surrounded the band. He turned around and searched for the origin of the shrieking laughter and apparently arguing voices. A group of three or four people moved, and he could see first a young woman with bright red hair, almost the same shade as Charlie’s, but curlier. She was also taller than Charlie, and as her friend, a dark-haired, round-faced girl who was the one laughing in a chiming but a bit forced way. They were both wearing red lipstick; it made them look more sophisticated than most of the hippie girls around, who for the majority didn’t wear any makeup. When she turned, Dean thought that there was something unpleasant about the red-haired one’s face, even if she was objectively gorgeous. But he didn’t spend time to linger on it, because when she took a step aside, he could see the young man who was standing behind her, and he recognized him at once: it was Castiel.

Dean’s road trip companion looked disheveled and uncomfortable in the rapidly fading light of the sunset. He was wearing the same dress pants and shirt, but no jacket or tie. His hair was a mess, but more than his physical appearance, his entire demeanor made Dean instantly uneasy. Castiel didn’t seem to be able to focus on the girl who was talking to him, and stood on shaky legs. Despite that, he was smiling broadly in a way that didn’t quite suit his face. Dean strode towards him.

“Cas - Castiel? Hey! How are you, man?” he asked when he reached him. Cas fought to focus on his face, squinting, until recognition seemed to dawn on him. Both of the women were also looking at Dean.

“Dean! Hello!” Cas slurred. His voice was thick, and now that Dean was closer to him, he could see that his eyes were red-rimmed and his pupils suspiciously dilated.

“Do you know this guy, Clarence?” the dark-haired chick asked. Dean glared at her.

“Yes, he knows me. I’m his friend. And you are?” Dean didn’t avert his eyes to see if Cas agreed with this reaching statement. They had only spent one day together, after all; it was a bit thin to be friends, but this wasn’t the pressing matter right now. Dean was pretty sure Castiel had taken some kind of drug or another, and he knew enough about the man to at least wonder if it was intentional or not. And there was a big difference in his book between taking drugs voluntarily and being drugged against his will. 

“We’re friends too,” the girl answered, her voice a sarcastic drawl, “and Clarence hasn’t talked about you since we met yesterday.”

“Maybe ask for the actual name of a person before calling them your friend. Now, I’m taking him out to dinner. What do you say, Cas?” Castiel was watching Dean with wide eyes, and he nodded eagerly like he had only a vague idea of what he was agreeing to. The redhead came from behind and slid an arm around his waist, plastered herself to his side and whispered in his ear, loud enough for Dean to hear:

“Don’t listen to him, honey, we’re going to have even more fun tonight if you stay with us.”

Dean wondered for a second if he had misread the whole situation and if Castiel did actually want to stay with these girls, but a mere glimpse at his face comforted him in his resolution to get Cas out of this: he looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Sorry lady, but I’m sure you can find lots of other people who’ll want to have fun with you. Meanwhile, I’m going to take Cas home. Let’s go, Cas, we need to find Sam.” Dean just grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, and thank god or whatever, Cas moved and followed him. Dean had time to hear the brunette say to her friend “Come on, Abbie, nevermind, he wasn’t that much fun…” before he dragged Cas away enough from the crowd. Then he stopped and turned around.

“Cas, what was that? Are you okay? These two were weird as fuck.” But Cas was looking at him with a broad smile.

“Oh, Dean! Is that you?” he exclaimed, like he had just recognized Dean, who frowned.

“Okay, Champ, what did they give you? Did you take something?” he asked louder, a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Cas didn’t answer and just smiled, his gaze shifting from Dean’s face to a couple passing by carrying a paper lantern, and back again at Dean’s face. Okay, he was high as a kite. Dean needed to take him somewhere safe and wait for the drug effects to wear off. He put his arm around Cas’ shoulders to make sure he would come with him, and went to the place where he’d left Sam and the others. They were still there, chilling and listening to a new band that had taken the place of the previous one. When Sam saw that Dean wasn’t alone, he got up and smiled in a welcoming way.

“Hey, Dean, where have you been?”

“Sammy, this is Castiel. Remember, I told you about him.”

“Oh, yes, I remember! Hello Castiel, nice to meet you, man!”

Cas was looking at Charlie, who was sitting a few feet away and whose hair was shining in the moving lights. It seemed to fascinate Cas as well as distress him slightly. Dean shook his head.

“I think he took something; I found him with two shifty chicks, and I wonder if they didn’t give it to him. It’s not really his style to do drugs.”

Sam watched Castiel’s face more intently. “He’s probably tripping on acid. If he didn’t take it voluntarily, he shouldn’t be left unsupervised.”

Dean glowered at his brother. “I don’t even want to know how you can tell what he’s on. Anyway, I wasn’t intending to leave him alone, but I have no idea where his stuff is. I should probably check the motel where I left him the other day, maybe he left his suitcase in his room. Do you want me to take y’all back to the campus?”

“Nah, don’t worry about us. We’ll do as we always do and either hitchhike or just sleep here and go back in the morning. In any case I’ll crash at Jess’, so if you need to, take him to my dorm. He doesn’t seem to be having a bad trip, so make sure he doesn’t puke and he’ll be all right in the morning.” 

“Thanks, Sam.” Dean turned to Cas who looked like he hadn’t heard a single word of the conversation. “Let’s go, Cas. Come on, we need to find my car. Remember her?”

For a second, Castiel looked like he was entirely sober and clear-headed. “Of course, Dean, I remember your car. Not the most usual vehicle, she’s...,” he said almost snarkily. Then he actually spotted the Impala and his eyes glassed over once again. “... shiny”, he mumbled.

Dean sighed and helped him into the passenger seat. He drove carefully out of the area, and only accelerated when he was sure that none of the drunk or stoned attendees would fall in front of his heels. Now that they were in a closed space, Dean could see - and smell - that Cas probably hadn’t showered in two days, nor had he changed his clothes. It worried him; the man didn’t have many possessions to begin with when he gave him a lift, so what was he gonna do if his suitcase was lost? The only thing he could do at this hour of the night, though, was take Cas to Sam’s dorm, and in the morning he would take him to the motel, see if his stuff was still there or if he remembered the last days. 

“Okay, Cas, here you go,” he said when they arrived at the deserted dorm; most students must be out in the hills. “You stink, man, let’s get you in the shower.” 

Dean hadn’t meant it literally, more like “here’s some soap, just go take a shower”, but seeing how Cas was currently captivated by Sam’s collection of necklaces, there wasn’t much of a chance he was going to be functional enough to do it by himself. Shit. Not that Dean wasn’t happy to have run into Cas and to see him again, but he hadn’t expected to become that intimate with the guy that quickly. Not that he expected to be intimate with him at all. He had kinda thought of him several times since they’d parted ways, and had replayed their conversation in his head, but… anyway. Whatever, one thing was certain, he wasn’t going to let Cas sleep in Sam’s or his own bed in the state he was in. So suck it up, Winchester. He grabbed one of his clean pairs of boxers and a tee-shirt.

“C’mon, Cas,” he said again, more for his own benefit than anything else, because Castiel was once again lost in whatever vision he was having. Dean hoped he would remember some of it and use it in one of his paintings; at least the whole experience would be good for something. 

Once they were in the bathroom, shared between four rooms, Dean locked the door behind them and urged Cas to undress. Between his encouragements, his aid and Cas’ short moments of clarity when he actually helped a bit, they managed to get Cas naked. Dean pushed him in the cubicle under the water spray, trying to not look anywhere south of Cas’ shoulders. He knew he was blushing, but the good thing was, Cas would probably not remember a thing and was completely unaware of Dean’s awkwardness… so unaware that he turned and faced Dean full frontal, and moaned as he let the water soak his greasy hair and cascade down his body. Dean couldn’t help his gaze running down too, and fuck, Cas was subtly muscled like no mormon guy had any right to, and his dick was heavy and half-hard between his legs and Dean’s cheeks were burning. He forced himself to reason that it was just a side effect of the drugs and anyway Dean liked  _ girls _ , all right, curvy, soft and smooth girls. No one had to know about the few times he had let his eyes roam over male bodies in changing rooms. And anyway, even if Cas had been the sexiest girl on the planet in this very moment, Dean wouldn’t have done anything more than help him, or her, get clean and dressed, because Cas wasn’t in any capacity to agree to anything else. The thought helped Dean sober up, and he pushed the bottle of shampoo into Cas’ hand, getting half soaked himself. 

The water seemed to clear Cas’ head at least partially, and he washed his hair and body with quick determined motions. Then he finally got out of the shower, smelling like soap and shivering. Dean wrapped him up in a towel and shoved another one on his head. 

“Feeling better, buddy?” Cas looked at him with eyes still red and dark-ringed. He was shivering and looked like he was going to collapse, now that he was coming down the high a little, but his pupils were still dilated. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” His teeth were chattering while he dressed clumsily.

“S’okay, don’t worry. You’re not going to puke, are you?” 

Cas shook his head. 

“Let’s put you to bed then. Nothing better than sleeping it off.”

They settled in the room, Dean in Sam’s bed and Cas on Dean’s mattress on the floor. Kevin was still out with the others, and Dean didn’t know if he would come back in during the night. The lights were out, but Dean could still see Cas’ eyes fixed on him, gleaming in the weak glow coming from the window. 

“Hope you feel better now. Who were these girls anyway? They were kinda creepy.”

Cas sighed, the dreamy tone of the drug back in his voice.

“I don’t know, but you’re so much prettier than them. I could paint you.”

Dean blushed once again, and tried to come up with an answer, but he soon heard a soft snore coming from the floor. He chuckled to himself, shook his head and closed his eyes too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to [@carolinasacco](http://carolinasacco.tumblr.com)'s and [@foxymoley](http://foxymoley.tumblr.com)'s art for chapter three [here](http://dixseptdixhuit.tumblr.com/post/167410947513/time-for-chapter-3-of-this-hippieau-for-this)  
> Thank you both so much for this!

Dean woke up slowly, the events of the previous night coming back to him as he realized he lay in Sam’s bed instead of on his own mattress. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Castiel was still sleeping peacefully, his breathing even and deep. As he watched him, Dean suddenly got a flash of the lean and still strong body he’d witnessed the night before, and  _ god _ he absolutely had to forget everything about how he had wanted to look longer, stare to his heart’s content ( _ and maybe touch) _ , before Cas would wake up. He shouldn’t be thinking about that when Cas was surely going to have forgotten what had happened, or, in the event that he remembered, was going to feel highly embarrassed about the whole situation. The man was religious in the first place, and even if he wasn’t, there were very few men who would welcome such thoughts coming from another man. Dean knew that and was happy to stick to women; Cas was just really good-looking - and cute and nice and a good listener and  _ stop it for fuck’s sake _ ! 

Without meaning to, he’d let a frustrated groan fall from his lips, and Cas stirred at the sound. His eyes fluttered open, and his hazy gaze wandered around the room before settling on Dean.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, and it came out softer than he had intended. 

“Dean,” Cas answered, sitting up on his mattress.

“How d’you feel? What do you remember?”

Cas rubbed his forehead. “Honestly, what I remember most is… a lot of colors. I think. Oh,” he added, and he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow with an almost pained expression. Dean immediately bent forward: 

“What? Are you okay?” 

“Shut up,” Cas answered curtly. Dean couldn’t help the stunned and somewhat hurt face he made, but Cas, eyes still closed, added more softly “Sorry. Just a minute.”

After a beat, he opened his eyes again and said with a sheepish smile: “I was just trying to commit to memory the way your eyes looked yesterday, so that I can render it in painting, maybe.”

Wow, that was not where Dean expected the conversation would go. Trying fiercely to rein his blush in, he changed the subject.

“So, what happened, man? How did you end up completely stoned up in the hills? And where did you leave your stuff?”

Castiel sighed, frowning as if he was trying hard to think. “I can’t remember much… I know I slept at the motel the first night and the next morning I walked to the campus… then, I don’t know. But I guess my suitcase must still be at the motel? At least I hope so.” 

Dean got up and handed Cas his crumpled clothes that lay discarded on the floor since the previous evening. 

“You should at least check if you’re still carrying your wallet, or your money. I didn’t think about checking last night.”

To both their relief, Castiel’s wallet was still in his pants pocket. 

“Okay, now, let’s have breakfast and then we’ll drive to the motel.” 

Dean gave Cas a pair of jeans and a shirt of his own, before slipping into the bathroom for a quick shower. They stopped at the cafeteria, and soon they got to the motel, where Cas was able to retrieve his suitcase after apologizing profusely to the manager and negotiating in order to pay only for two nights. 

“Well, this went better than I feared,” Dean said when they got back to the car.

“Thank you so much for helping me, Dean,” Cas said in his usual serious tone. “If you’d be so kind as to point me to another motel, I won’t bother you after that.”

Dean looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“Are you kidding me? There’s no way I’m gonna leave you in a motel! You’re staying with us, I’m sure Sam won’t mind. The room may be a little crowded, but we’ll find a way. Sam knows so many people, I’m sure someone will have a bed to crash on.”

“I can take care of myself, Dean. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yeah, yesterday you really looked like you could take care of yourself,” Dean snorted. “You don’t even know how you ended up gulping down acid.” Castiel was looking annoyed and guilty, so Dean changed the subject. “Anyway, I thought about you in the last couple of days…” 

Dean stopped and tried not to stammer. That sounded way more incriminating than he had planned to phrase it. 

“... when I met the people in the Vietnam Day Committee. There’s this woman, Pamela, she’ll have good advice for you, if you want to get a deferment. You should meet her.”

Cas was watching him thoughtfully, his face unreadable to Dean. 

“Thank you, Dean. For everything,” he simply said in the end, but he was obviously meaning it and it made Dean smile brightly.

 

They found Sam and Kevin at the cafeteria about an hour later. Jess and Charlie had gone home to catch some sleep before their afternoon classes. They had all spent the night up in the hills, ending up dozing under a big eucalyptus when the bands had finally stopped playing, and they looked like they’d had the most awesome time. Although when Dean introduced Castiel properly, and explained the situation, he sensed that Kevin especially wasn’t entirely happy about accommodating a fourth person in the room. Dean knew that even if Kevin partied as much as all of them, he took his studies very seriously and needed a quiet environment. Sam clapped Kevin on the shoulder and, having the same idea as Dean, came with them to see Pamela.

 

*

“Oh for god’s sake, Dean, quit it! It’s not like it’s a honeymoon suite! It just happens that a couple vacated it, that’s all, and I’m sure no one will mind if it’s two guys who occupy it next; frankly, people in this squat hardly care about anything.” 

Dean looked around the cramped room; it was more of a big closet than a room, really, but at least it had a small window. Pamela had suggested that they asked a friend of hers, Jesse, who lived in an old building in downtown Oakland; it was a three-story brick house that could maybe be qualified as victorian if you squinted. An informal commune of people occupied it, all young people who came and went as they pleased. It happened that two beds were just available that very day. It was too good an opportunity to let it pass, and Sam had said so, but Dean still complained about the arrangement. He sighed petulantly.

“Okay, but I still think it’s gonna be weird for Cas to be crammed in there with me!”

Sam gave Dean his best bitchface, and Castiel chose this moment to come back from the car with his suitcase.

“I don’t mind, Dean, it’s much better for Sam and Kevin that we give them back their space. And it’s not for too long; I’ll be gone in barely three weeks, then you can have the room for yourself.”

Dean gritted his teeth. He didn’t like that Cas talked about going to war as if it was an irrevocable fact and no big deal, but what was he supposed to say? The argument made him shut up about the two single mattresses sitting barely a foot apart in the tiny room, though. At least, this way he would be able to try and talk Cas out of obeying without at least considering his options to get out of the conscription. 

“Yeah, well I hope you don’t snore too much,” Dean said, going for humor. Cas’ face went all serious.

“I. don’t. snore.” he replied, and then his glare turned almost murderous as he deadpanned: “But if  _ you _ keep me from sleeping, I will smite you.” 

Sam and Dean both watched him with their mouths hanging open for a beat, before Sam burst out laughing. Cas’s expression melted into a gummy smile; he was visibly proud of himself. Dean joined them in their hilarity, feeling somewhat amazed. Cas wasn’t just a shy mormon guy with a tragic backstory. He was also strong-willed with a dry sense of humor that appealed to Dean’s own. Who would have known.

 

*

 

In the following weeks, they began to get used to the life between Oakland and Berkeley. They usually had breakfast with the others at the cafeteria. Cas often attended classes or lectures with either Sam or Kevin, or sometimes alone when he wanted to hear something about a specific subject. Sometimes, Dean came with them, but he also spent a lot of time with the anti-war activists, helping with setting up protests and writing tracts. Sam and Cas really got along; Dean often found them engrossed in a philosophical or theological discussion, and he never failed to make fun of them, but he secretly loved to listen to their opinions and to see them talk with each other like that.

One evening, Cas and Sam walked to their usual table, where Dean and the others were already sitting. That afternoon, they had crossed Bay Bridge to go participate in a Hare Krishna meeting in the Golden Gate park in San Francisco. Dozens of people gathered regularly around a famous guru to chant mantras, dance, and meditate. 

“I don’t know, Sam,” Cas was saying as they reached the table, “that was interesting enough, and I’m sure the people participating are completely sincere, but something doesn’t feel right with me.” 

Sam shrugged. “I get that it’s a bit weird and maybe some people overdo it a little, but the general atmosphere feels really peaceful and relaxing to me.”

“Oh, yes, I get that. It’s more… the philosophical aspect of it. I know from experience that you can get too engrossed in the mystical to keep your critical mind awake. Trying to reach out to God, whatever form you imagine him in, is pointless and even dangerous.”

Dean listened to this discussion intently. That wasn’t the kind of discourse he’d have expected from Cas, but he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask about Cas’ beliefs. The others were listening too and Jess asked the burning question.

“Don’t you have faith anymore, then?” Her tone was gentle; it was clearly genuine interest and not an accusation. Cas seemed to reflect and chose his words carefully.

“I still do, I think, but it isn’t a faith my parents would be happy about if I told them about it. I believe there’s something to look for, to pursue, but it’s not God as the religions say… I don’t think we can know him, or it, just maybe feel it from time to time, like energy. So yes, chanting like we were doing this afternoon can be a way of channeling this energy, probably… but it shouldn’t be a dogma to follow. Mantras, yoga, all this, they’re just… tools, I think.”

Kevin brought up a philosophy lecture he had attended and the discussion kept going, everyone adding their own opinion and debating their views on the subject. Dean kept silent, listening to the arguments; he didn’t feel articulate enough to contribute. They were all college students and he was soon going to have to look for a job in the garages around when the money he’d saved up would wear out. But he could listen and maybe learn a little from his brother and friends; at least he hoped so.

 

*

 

The diversity of people on the campus never ceased to amaze Dean. His life in the small and fairly conformist community of Lawrence had completely failed to prepare him to the freedom with which people lived in California. They dressed as they pleased, they voiced their opinions, they listened to the music they liked; they asserted their lifestyles and stated what they wanted loud and clear. 

Seeing people live like that, particularly in the squat, where all sort of individuals came and went, made Dean feel narrow-minded against his better judgement. Some outfits made his eyebrows go up into his hairline, and he still had a knee-jerk reaction when he saw someone smoking a joint in the street. These things made him both uncomfortable and weirdly exhilarated. 

One incident left a mark in his mind, and he found himself thinking about it several times. 

One night, he was coming back to the squat after having spent the evening distributing tracts with the Vietnam Day committee. Cas was probably already asleep in their room; the common room was quieter than usual, but a Ravi Shankar record was still playing somewhere in the back of the house. Several people were having conversations in front of the french window or in the dim light of a lava lamp, the new hit someone had brought in recently. Dean waved at the group near the window and was crossing the room to the stairs when he spotted movement in the saggy couch in the darkest corner. Smirking to himself, he thought that one of his squat-mates - possibly Jesse, now that his eyes were getting used to the lack of light - was getting lucky. He walked by, just glancing at the couple, and froze. It was Jesse alright, but the person he was kissing thoroughly wasn’t a woman; it was Cesar, a stocky dark-haired guy Dean had seen several times at parties. Now that he thought about it, he’d always seen him standing close to Jesse. Cesar’s hand was disappearing under Jesse’s shirt and stroking his back. Oblivious to Dean’s presence, Jesse pulled back just enough to look into Cesar’s eyes. The intimacy was so evident that Dean became highly aware of his own indiscretion, and he felt his cheeks flare with heat. He hurried past the couch, acting like he hadn’t noticed the two men. When he reached the first floor, his heart was still beating wildly, and he chastised himself for his reaction. That was no big deal; he’d seen Charlie with her girlfriends multiple times, and he’d never batted an eye. But seeing two guys kissing like this in public felt more private, more  _ important _ in a way he couldn’t explain to himself. He took several deep breaths before entering the room where Cas, thankfully, was out cold. Dean went to bed without bothering to undress.

 

*

 

It was the end of another afternoon when Dean came back to the squat and found Cas drawing in their room. The door was wide open to let the light in from the hall, as the window was too small to bring enough daylight. Various sheets of paper and crayons were scattered on Cas’ bed and even on Dean’s, as Cas sat on his and took up most of the space. When Dean stopped in the threshold, Cas raised his head, looking a little startled. He put his paper down and began to gather the mess on Dean’s bed.

“Oh, sorry Dean, I didn’t know you were coming back so early. Let me…”

Dean lifted a hand. “No, don’t bother! Keep going, I’ll make myself some space,” he said as he started pushing the pens and papers at the end of the mattress. He sat down, facing Cas, and added: “I didn’t know you’d started drawing again. Where’d you find the crayons?”

“They’re oil pastels, actually. Tasha lend them to me, you know, the girl with all the bracelets who sleeps on the third floor?”

Dean nodded. He tried to look at the sheet of paper, but Cas pulled his knees up so that Dean wouldn’t see. 

“It’s not finished,” he said like it was an obvious rule.

“At least tell me what you’re painting.”

Cas seemed to ponder something. “If I tell you, will you do me a favor?”

“Depends, but yeah, probably,” Dean answered, amused.

“I’m drawing your eyes the way I saw them that night… when I was drugged.” Cas looked at him like he was expecting Dean to make fun of him, but it was Dean who felt like blushing.

“So, what’s the favor?” he asked.

“Would you pose for me? It won’t be long, but I’d like to get the shape of your eyes right.” This time, Dean did blush.

“Okay,” he answered, not knowing if he needed to say thank you or anything else. “What should I do?” He felt awkward and self-conscious, and chastised himself inwardly; it wasn’t like Cas was asking him to pose in the nude, he told himself.

Cas asked him matter-of-factly to sit still and to look slightly to his upper right. He started drawing again and they didn’t talk for several minutes. Dean felt stupidly flustered under Cas’ stare; he could only see him from the corner of his eye, but Cas had this concentrated frown Dean had already noticed when they had attended conferences together. After about fifteen minutes, he grew impatient. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked out of the blue. “I was thinking of eating here tonight, and I think Sonny said there were rice and beans leftovers.”

“Mmhmh,” Cas said, “I could eat.”

“I’ll be right back.” Dean got up at once. “Don’t worry, I’ll resume posing after.” 

When he came back ten minutes later with two steaming bowls of rice and vegetables, Cas was still working, but he put the paper down and they ate, sitting on the mattresses, facing each other, their socked feet almost - but not quite - touching. They talked casually about their day and what the committee was up to for the coming weeks - important protests were being planned. 

Once they’d finished eating, Cas took up his pastels again, but Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint. 

“Do you mind if I smoke in here, Cas?” Dean had smoked in front of Cas several times at parties, but not in the room. “I’ll open the window.”

Cas hummed again, and Dean got up to crack the window open. Before sitting down again, he looked at Cas quizzically. 

“Do you want to try it?” he offered, holding the joint up. Cas had never asked for it when spliffs turned at parties. He frowned at Dean, who added: “It’s not very strong and it’s nothing like LSD. You can take just one drag.”

“Mmh, maybe. Can you pose again, please?” 

Dean sat down and lit the joint while trying to stay as still as possible. He smoked for a minute while Cas drew. It helped him relax and avoid squirming. He handed the joint over to Cas who took it from his fingertips and puffed on it once, then another time, inhaling the smoke. Dean watched Cas’ lips close around it with fascination, aware that his own mouth had been there just seconds ago. Cas passed it back and went back to his drawing.

“You know, you never really told me why you’re not married,” Dean said all of a sudden. He had no idea where the question had come from. He waited, appreciating the mild dizziness the weed brought, and he was starting to think that Cas wouldn’t say anything when he started talking.

“I had a relationship once, several years ago. She was a long-time friend; her name is Hannah. We got along well as friends, and both our families were beginning to insist that we needed to find a partner; we agreed that it was easier to date someone we already knew and liked. But it didn’t work out. I felt nothing for her but brotherly affection. After that, I focused on painting; that’s what’s important in my life. No one made me change my mind until… until now.”

The smoking was starting to really get to Dean’s head. There was something that bugged him about the way Cas had hesitated in the phrasing of his last sentence, but Dean couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Also, it was the first time Cas had spoken about a woman in his life, and somehow it brought a bitter tang in Dean’s chest. If you could feel a tang in your chest anyway… His thoughts were beginning to spin. He looked at Cas; Cas was looking at him. They stared at each other for an undefined stretch of time, before Cas dropped his eyes to his drawing and announced: “I think it’s done.”

Cas lowered the paper and turned it towards Dean, who leaned forward until their heads almost touched. The eyes - his own eyes, Dean thought dimly - took up all the page, their shape and look clearly recognisable despite the swirls and spirals of colors that seemed to explode in them and from them. Dean gaped at it for over a minute, unable to tear his eyes away from it.

“Cas, it’s… it’s great,” he finally managed, at a loss for a better term.

“It’s for you,” Cas said, handing him the drawing.

“Wha… really? Wow, I… thank you, Cas.”

Dean looked into Cas’ eyes again. A weird pull snatched at his plexus, like he was tipping over towards Cas, but he resisted it. 

“Thank you, buddy,” he repeated. Cas smiled, something slow and soft, and began gathering the supplies scattered around them. Then he got up and stretched, his body towering above Dean. 

“I think I’m going to take a shower, if it’s free,” he said. He took his toilet bag and walked out, his towel thrown over his shoulder. Dean watched him go, then placed the drawing carefully against the wall, at the head of his mattress, and lay down. Sleep took him before Cas had come back from the bathroom.

 

*

Days passed, and what Dean had really feared but not voiced inevitably happened. He spent at least half of his time with Cas. They had breakfast together - often with Sam and the clique too; during the day, they had different occupations, but they ran into each other a lot. Then they had dinner together again, and on the nights when no party was happening, or they were too tired to attend one, they went back to the squat together and slept in the same room. This life felt domestic, almost intimate. The exiguity of the space made it nearly impossible to avoid seeing each other in various states of undress; besides, Cas didn’t seem to be bothered by it, and he displayed his tanned skin and lean muscles with a natural obliviousness that Dean envied. 

At night, they lay so close to each other that Dean heard every breath, every sigh or light snore uttered by Cas. He could have touched Cas’ shoulder or his hand or his hip if he had so much as extended his arm, and sometimes his fingers tingled as he stayed still and tried to fall asleep. And if Dean wanted to forget the vision of the naked body he had seen on the “acid trip night”, as he called it in his head, well, it was hopeless. Instead, the memory merged with the one of Jesse and Cesar kissing tenderly in the common room and the way Cas had looked at him when he was painting his eyes, focused and like nothing existed around him, and Dean knew he was lost. Fucked up, if he didn’t do something about it and killed this feeling right away. Because the surge of emotion he felt, lying there in the dark, was way too strong to misinterpret. He was falling in love with Cas, and it was terrifying. Cas was a man, a religious man who was likely oblivious of Dean’s feelings, and above all he was going away in less than a week, and Dean couldn’t do it. 

So on the next morning, Dean went to the Vietnam Day committee and found Anna, a gorgeous, sweet red-head he had been casually flirting with without really intending to follow up, and he asked her on a date. That same night, they had sex in the back seat of the Impala. 

When he got back to his room in the squat after midnight, Cas was asleep, and Dean felt more in control of his life than he had in the last weeks, despite the bitter taste in his mouth and the hollow pit in his chest. Things were much better for everyone this way.

 

Dean needed to break the routine that had somehow grown organically between him and Cas. The following days, he didn’t show up anywhere without Anna by his side. Sam and Jess looked surprised at the beginning, but didn’t comment and welcomed her warmly enough. Cas, to Dean’s relief (he ignored the nauseating ache that sat in his gut), only watched him with his big blues without further reaction. 

 

Charlie was tougher, as Dean should have known. She wore a sarcastic little smile on the first day, then a sceptic squint the day after. On the third day, she cornered Dean alone just outside the library.

“What are you doing, Dean?” she asked without preamble.

“What?” Dean wasn’t going to make things easier for her. But Charlie wasn’t one to shy away from what she wanted to say, and she continued:

“You know exactly what I mean, so don’t bullshit me. You could have at least waited until after Cas was gone, if you couldn’t insist enough for him to stay. You’re the one person he would maybe have listened to.”

Dean felt himself blush and hated it. He had no reason to feel guilty. 

“It’s not like that between me and Cas. He doesn’t mind… whatever I do with Anna. And he’s stubborn like ten mules, I have no more influence on him than anyone else.”

Charlie rolled her eyes so hard they almost hit the back of her head.

“Oh please, give me a little credit, would you? I understand if you don’t want to act on it for whatever reason, but I know how you feel about him. Maybe the others are blind, but I’m not. And I see how he looks at you, too.”

Dean knew there was no use denying it for himself, but she was wrong about Cas. She must be. 

“Look, Charlie, I know you mean well, but Cas doesn’t think this way. I hope he’ll get a deferment and come back, I do, but let it go, okay? Please.” His voice sounded almost pleading, even to his own ears, and Charlie sighed, defeated.

“Right, okay.” She started to walk towards the library, but turned back to him before entering. “I’m here if you need anything.” She didn’t wait for an answer.

 

*

It was for tomorrow. Cas was going to the draft board tomorrow. His bag was packed, his side of the small room tidied up. Dean had kept his mouth shut all day, not being able to think about some new argument that would maybe make Cas change his mind, but he needed to try again; he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn’t. 

“Cas…”

“Mmh?” 

It was the first evening they’d gone back to the squat together in almost a week. Cas was unbuttoning his shirt, his back turned. Dean watched the fabric slip from his friend’s strong shoulders. He took a breath. 

“You don’t have to go, man. You don’t owe them anything, it’s not your duty or whatever. Just stay, don’t hand them your life on a silver platter!”

Cas didn’t look at him. He put his pajama shirt on slowly, and didn’t speak for so long that Dean thought he wouldn’t answer at all, but in the end he started talking low and slow.

“Dean, what life are you talking about? Where  _ is _ my place? My parents wouldn’t let me come back if I wanted to. I don’t have a home anymore. My remaining brother has disappeared, I have no idea where to look for him. And here… Look, I couldn’t be more grateful for what you did for me. You all welcomed me, befriended me like I was one of you, like I belonged. But I don’t. Sam has Jess and his studies, like Kevin; they’re all brilliant. And you… you’re beginning to build a life here, too. I don’t fit, not only here, but anywhere. The draft board is waiting for me; I’m registered there, it’s where I have to be right now.”

No, that was too unfair. Cas didn’t have any right to make Dean feel like he had failed him, like he could have offered more. What Dean may have had to give, the ill-defined feelings he had thought would disappear when he started dating Anna, weren’t what Cas needed anyway. He deserved more, and better. Dean knew Anna didn’t mean anything, and hadn’t changed anything, but it was too late to say something now. A wave of anger flared through him, chasing the terrible powerlessness he felt.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, you stubborn dumbass! Your mind was made up a long time ago anyway; but don’t tell me I let you down, okay?”

Cas looked at him with a baffled expression. “I didn’t…” he started, but Dean couldn’t stop now, even if he himself knew he wasn’t making any sense.

“You just can’t shake your education off, can you? This fucking sacrifice spirit… but don’t you dare make me feel bad about it! If you don’t think my - our friendship is worth staying, then go! Whatever! I’m not responsible for you anyway.”

He felt his voice would break if he carried on, so he stopped and turned away. He didn’t want to look at Cas’ face.

“No, you aren’t responsible for me, Dean. I value your friendship, a lot, but I have made my decision. I’m sorry.” Cas’ tone was firm but emotionless, like he was reciting something he didn’t really mean. Dean didn’t turn and didn’t answer. After a few minutes, Cas switched the lights off and he went to bed.

Dean didn’t fall asleep for a very long time. In the morning, he woke up with a start. Cas’ mattress was bare, his side of the room empty. He was gone. Dean swallowed angrily against the painful lump in his throat. Even if there was no one to see him, he wouldn’t give in to something as useless as tears. He dressed and slammed the door behind him. 


End file.
